by Dawn Cook
My next outburst died. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure I knew what was going on.
“We do love you,” she said, her thin hand looking pale atop my sun-darkened one, “and please don’t take this the wrong way, but . . .” She hesitated and took a deep breath. “You aren’t the crown princess.”
Three
“What do you mean, I’m not the princess?” I said, almost laughing. That was ridiculous.
My mother’s eyes were sad, and her face drawn. “Dear,” she said, her nervous gaze darting over my shoulder to the two men. “Not so loud. I know this is awkward—”
“How can I not be the princess?” I exclaimed, pulling away. Mystified, I glanced to my father and Garrett. It was obvious they had heard me. The prince was red with anger, and my father wore a look of pained determination.
Garrett stood with his hand upon his sword hilt. “You dare play my family as fools?” he said indignantly. “We offered you immeasurable tracts of land, and you give us insult? Using lies to null a signed agreement is craven. Wars have started for less, sir!”
My father’s face darkened. “We do nothing of the kind. We fully intend to honor our agreement. We have a crown princess.” He glanced at me with that same tinge of guilt. “She just isn’t Tess, here.”
Confounded, I stared blankly at my father. What, by the three rivers, is going on?
My father turned his back upon Prince Garrett and came to the table. I jumped as he cupped my chin, meeting my eyes with a sorrowful expression. “I’m sorry, Tess. If it was up to me, I’d let you be queen. You’d have made a good one.”
He looked at Garrett standing by the beautiful statue. “Prince Garrett,” he said, his voice carrying a weary weight. “Allow me to explain. There’s been no breach of contract. I introduced Tess as my daughter, nothing more. Any judgments you came to are unfortunate.”
“I am so the princess,” I said, looking from my mother’s pinched face to my father. A bad feeling settled over me. No one was laughing.
“No, sweetness,” my mother said. “But you are our daughter. We love you very much. Please don’t make that face.”
Garrett hadn’t moved. His eyes were fixed on me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “If she’s not the Red Moon Princess, who is she?” he asked tersely.
My father winced. “Ah—we aren’t entirely sure.”
My eyes widened and I stared, not believing this was happening. “But I’m the princess!”
“It was troubled times, Tess, when your sister was born,” my father said persuasively. “The assassination attempts began the week we found the prophesy painted on the wall, and we had to do something. There had been a lunar eclipse the fall before your sister was born, and it seemed she was the royal child of prophesy. We sent Kavenlow to find an infant to confuse the assassins, and after the first two babies perished, we sent your sister into hiding.”
“I’m a decoy?” I exclaimed, feeling my face warm. “A moving target?” I looked at them as my disbelief whirled into outrage. “You’re not even my parents?”
“Of course we’re your parents,” my mother protested. “We bought you honestly.”
My breath seemed to freeze, and a wave of nausea swept me. I held my hands to my middle. Why hadn’t Kavenlow told me? He had known, and never told me. I was a foundling? I was one of three, lucky enough to survive a prophesy that wasn’t even mine to bear?
“We assumed the situation would ease, and we could bring her back and raise you together as proper sisters,” my mother pleaded. “But things only worsened. Even to finding assassins among her suitors. We thought it prudent to wait until she was safely home before telling you so as to protect your sister while on the road, but between your impatience and Prince Garrett’s early arrival . . .” Her hand reached out, and I drew away, unable to accept her touch.
Garrett was a blur of jerky motion at the edge of my sight as he paced. “Where’s the princess?” He spun to a stop. “I was promised the Red Moon Princess. Where is she?”
My father stiffened at Garrett’s callousness. “She is safe,” he said coldly. “The chancellor has been sent this very afternoon to fetch her.”
May heaven help me, I thought, going cold. It was true. And Kavenlow had known it. He had known and never told me. I felt betrayed, trapped. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. It had all been a lie: the fancy dress, the privilege, my entire life. I was a beggar’s unwanted child. I was bought and paid for. And Kavenlow, the only soul I trusted with my hidden wishes, had known it and let me live the lie, making myself into a fool.
My father stood between Garrett and me. “The joining of Costenopolie and Misdev will take place as planned in six months,” he said firmly. “I apologize for your misunderstanding. There has been no intentional deception. You have a bride, Prince Garrett, the same you have been exchanging letters with this past year.”
I felt I might pass out. I couldn’t seem to get enough air. Who had gotten the letters I had written? Were the letters I had received in response even real?
Garrett’s pacing came to an abrupt halt beside the pond. “Six months puts me on the wrong side of the shipping season,” he muttered. “How far away is she?”
I stared, hearing but not understanding.
My mother’s lips were pressed together, making her look severe and protective. “That is none of your concern,” she said coldly. “Our chancellor is bringing her back directly.”
“Who else knows?” Garrett said tightly. “Who knows this harlot is gutter trash?”
My eyes widened, and I gripped the arms of the chair. I was going to pass out. I knew it. My father’s jaw clenched, and his round cheeks reddened. “Take care, Prince Garrett!”
“Who else?” Garrett exclaimed. “I have a right to know!”
My father was ramrod stiff. “Other than us and the crown princess? The chancellor.”
“No one else?” he insisted, his brow furrowed. “Not even the people caring for her?”
“No,” my mother said. “Chancellor Kavenlow told them nothing. The crown princess herself found out only recently of her true birth so she could properly answer your letters.”
“I’m not the princess,” I whispered as the nightmare forced itself into my reality.
“No, dear.” My mother turned to me.
“I’m not going to marry Prince Garrett?” Somehow I sounded plaintive, as if it meant something. But there wasn’t much left to my world at the moment, and I was trying to build on what I had. It was like making a castle with dry sand. Everything slipped away.
“No.” Her eyes tightened. “And I thank God for that.” Garrett’s breath hissed in, and he spun. His smooth cheeks were spotted with red. My mother’s face was grim with a repressed anger. “You speak like a snake, Prince Garrett,” she said. “Your pleasantries are to lull the unsuspecting. You are far too eager to accelerate the marriage, couching it in a false concern for your bride. We will hold to our agreement of marriage, but I doubt if my body-born daughter will ever share a bed with you.”
Clearly surprised, my father blinked. “Wife?”
“He calls Tess gutter trash,” she said, gesturing angrily at Garrett. “He wants only the glory promised by the prophesy.”
Garrett gripped the top of his sword, his knuckles white. “She is gutter trash! And you tried to pass her off as the Red Moon Princess. You wouldn’t dare do that to my brother!”
Hand upon the hilt of his sword, my father stood before the man I almost wed, shaking in a repressed anger. “It would be best if you retired to your rooms, Prince Garrett. We will speak again tomorrow.” His voice was frighteningly cold.
Garrett’s fierce green eyes were unwavering from my father’s. “As you say,” he said. He turned to my mother. “Your Highness.” Spinning on a heel, he strode up the walk to the door, his boots loud on the slate.
I sat in shock, blinking at nothing as his steps grew faint and vanished. My mother dropped her head into her hands and started to si
lently weep.
I’m not the princess?
Four
The creak of my outer door closing woke me. Eyes Open, I stared into the dimness of the predawn dusk as Heather rustled about, trying to be quiet. A knot of worry loosened about me, and I stretched my feet downward to find the hot water bottle. Its warmth was all but gone, telling me as clearly as the lighter black outside my window that it was almost sunrise. Too early for me, but not for wandering, lustful members of my court.
A smile curled up the corners of my mouth. Heather was always sharp to spot a chance to escape the palace walls. As long as she didn’t get pregnant, everyone would look the other way, and I enjoyed living vicariously through her. Reattaching buttons was a small price to pay for hearing how she had spent her evening. I just hoped she remembered what I had sent her for.
My flicker of anticipation died. I wondered if Heather would still like me after she found out I was a beggar’s child.
“Heather?” I called, shame deciding for me that I wouldn’t tell her until I had to. “What did you do, wait while the smith smelted the metal?”
There was a scrape of a foot on the floor inside my room, and I frowned. I could smell horse. That wasn’t Heather.
Head throbbing with fear, I bolted upright, reaching for the knife under my pillow.
“Nuh-uh,” a masculine voice said, and a thick hand gripped my shoulder in a painful pinch. A gasp of fear escaped me, and I struggled as the man swore and put a hand over my mouth, pinning me to the headboard. I froze, leaving my knife hidden when I heard the snick of steel against leather from a second man entering my room.
“There now, Princess,” the man holding me said. “See, I tolds you she was a good girl. She only needs to know what’s what.”
The second man grumbled something, his black shadow shifting uneasily from foot to foot. My heart was pounding, and I was cold. Where were my guards? Why was I alone?
“Now,” the first said, his moist fingers against my face stinking of mutton, “Prince Garrett sent us to fetch you. I can knock your pretty little head and carry you, or you can walk.”
That was a choice? “Walk,” I mumbled around his hand.
He eyed me in distrust, his grip on my shoulder tightening until I cried out.
“Clent,” the second said, sounding worried. “Don’t bruise her. He won’t like it.”
The fingers on me slackened, and he stepped back. My pulse raced, and my head throbbed. I wanted my knife, but it would be useless against swords. Where are my guards?
My face went slack, and my breath faltered. Garrett had taken the palace. He had enough men with him to take the palace! God help us . . . My parents . . .
The man standing over me gestured with his bare blade, and I scrambled out of bed before he reached for me. Stomach clenched, I drew myself up and forced my arms down from where I wanted to clutch them about myself in fear and cold. The second man motioned to the door, and I stumbled into motion. My thoughts were a sickening slurry as I went into my outer room, one guard before me, one behind. It was the first time I had ever felt imprisoned by swords, never having had them drawn against me instead of for my protection.
My nightdress wasn’t enough to stop the dawn’s chill from soaking into me as I paced the empty halls in my bare feet, becoming more afraid as I went. Most of the lamps had died, and faint calls and shouts echoed occasionally. We came into the main receiving room, as large and spacious as the banquet hall. You could get to anywhere from here, and I stared at a small archway beside the dais. Please, no, I thought. Not the one leading to my parents’ rooms. My shoulders eased as the man before me went to the large archway leading to the solarium.
It was warmer past the heavy oak doors of the indoor garden, the moisture beading up on the inside panel. I could smell the night blooming vine my mother loved, mixing with the early roses. The damp air was a balm against my face. The sound of my father’s voice raised in anger was both a relief and a fear. “Father,” I whispered, darting round the first guard to reach him.
“Hey! Get her!” someone shouted.
I ran down the path to the glow of torches, jerked to a halt by a rough hand when I turned the corner of the path and found the fish-pond. “Mother!” I cried in fear, struggling to push the hand about my arm away as the soldier who had caught me apologized to Prince Garrett. My mother was in the grip of a Misdev guard. Angels save us. There was a knife at her throat.
My attention flicked over the tiled patio. Garrett stood confidently with one foot upon the fishpond’s retaining wall beside my game of thieves and kings. My mother was before him, looking small in her nightdress, pride in the set of her lips and the flash of her eyes. Two guards held my father. One had a bruise on his cheek and a cut lip. My father was sweating, straining against their restraint. His fear chilled me. I’d never seen my father afraid. It was quiet, with only the sound of water and the first twitters of caged birds. The sky beyond the glass was gray with the coming dawn. No one would hear us here. No one would see.
“Well,” Garrett said as he pulled his foot down and straightened his uniform’s coat. “Now we can start.”
I said nothing, taking my cue from my parents. They looked vulnerable, pulled from their beds in their nightclothes with their hair rumpled and their faces bare. They were no longer a king and queen, showing only their deeper bond of husband and wife. I could see their love and fear for each other. And I knew Garrett could see it as well.
Garrett turned to my father. “I’m not going to be delicate about this. Tell me where the Red Moon Princess is, or I will cut her throat.”
Shock took my breath away. “No!” I cried. I tried to break free, my knees buckling when the hand on me squeezed my arm with an unbearable pressure.
“Tess, no,” my mother said, and the calmness of her voice pulled me back from the brink even as the knife under her ear glinted. “He won’t do it. His father doesn’t want a war with us.”
Garrett blinked one eye at my father with a mocking slowness. “For once we are in agreement. My father is a coward. He and my brother. They’d quake in their boots if they knew what I was doing.” He took a step to my father. “Where is the Red Moon Princess?”
My father went desperate. With a guttural groan, he fought to break free. The guards wrestled him to lie half upon the table, his arms pulled behind his back.
“I’m going to count from five,” Garrett said, his breath fast as he came to stand before the table between my father and my mother.
“You won’t,” my father said, his face pinched as the guards kept him unmoving.
“Five,” Garrett said, his hands on his hips and his back to my mother and me.
Chin against the table, my father sent his gaze over Garrett’s shoulder to my mother. Desperation and fear showed from him. His breath came fast in indecision.
“Don’t tell him, Stephen,” my mother said, standing unafraid with a Misdev knife at her throat. The man holding her had wide, frightened eyes. His hands shook.
“Four.” Garrett ignored her, fixed entirely on my father’s fear.
“Don’t tell. He won’t do it.” My mother’s voice was strong.
Garrett stood unmoving. “Three.”
My father’s eyes shot from Garrett’s to my mother’s. “May?” he quavered, and the guards shifted to keep him down.
“Stephen. It’s a bluff,” she said, still calm.
“Two,” Garrett said, the word short and clipped.
“May?” It was frantic with indecision.
“No, Stephen!”
“One.”
The word was as devoid of emotion as the ones before. It settled heavy upon my ears. Garrett flicked his eyes to the guards and nodded.
I stood frozen as the Misdev guard ran his knife across my mother’s neck with a silken sound. Her eyes widened. Red flowed, drenching her shoulder and side.
“Mother!” I shrieked, jerking into motion. Using nails and feet, I squirmed and twisted. I could hear
my father’s shouts, and Garrett’s angry demand to hold him. The guard restraining me went to help them, and I ran to her, crumpled where the guard had dropped her.
“Mother!” I cried, falling to pull her head onto my lap. Her eyes were open, glazed.
“Tess,” she whispered, her eyes unseeing. “Don’t think—we didn’t love you.”
“Mother? Mother!” I looked down. There was so much blood between my fingers. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it!
The tension eased from her, and she went slack. I looked up in delirium. My father was under a pile of guards. I could hear him angrily sobbing my mother’s name over and over. Garrett stood over us. “This can’t be real,” I whispered. “This can’t be happening.”
Garrett’s attention flicked down to me. He reached out, and before I knew what he was doing, he yanked me up from my mother. She slumped gracefully as if sleeping, her blood staining the moss between the flagstones. The white of my nightdress was crimson and warm. Garrett pushed me into the grip of one of his guards. “Her turn,” he said softly.
“May,” my father wept as the men pulled him to his feet. “May. You took my May.”
Garrett strode forward and slapped my father smartly across the face. “And I’ll take your gutter trull next if you don’t tell me where the Red Moon Princess is.”
A guard held me. Terrified, I looked at my father. His grief shone from him, beaten and overpowered. He slumped as the hands holding me tightened. “No,” I whispered plaintively, too shocked to do more. My mother was dead. She had been alive, and now she was dead. The grief and loss in my father’s eyes when he raised them to mine was like a blow to my middle. I struggled to find enough air.
I tried not to, but I cried out when the guard holding me put the knife, still red from my mother’s throat, against mine. He stank of sweat and fear, and the knife trembled against me.
Garrett’s smile broadened as my father hung unresisting. “She’s at the nunnery on Bird Island,” my father said, his voice cracking. “Damn you to hell. She’s in the mountains on a peak called Bird Island. Leave Tess alone. Please . . . don’t hurt my daughter.”
